From time to time, I have to write a poem about life and things happening to me, my friends or to complete strangers. After all, a world is, looking from the bright side, beautiful ...
and of course, most of life isn't real.
If real love, would wait for fourteen days, would it be a love or comitment ?
Love doesn't wait, even if living in next building. It is or no ? or is or is ? arh argh cry for help.
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